Rumination: Time

What is like grating cheese? Hard
to begin with vehicle before tenor
but perhaps Samson’s falling locks.
I glance at my Delilah, weakening
me by thickening soup. The closer you
get to the end of the block the more
likely you are to slice your knuckle.
Tattered skin. A carpenter’s curling
wood chips spilling from a hayloft.
Sprinkling salt. Posterity. The years
falling like these soft orange shreds.
We are not young anymore my love,
but we are not too old to savor
this—this is delicious poblano soup
so all we can do is dip our sop in
the dish and try not to betray each
other in these final hours waiting
for your tomb, and hopefully another.